I think I am done writing about my pain for now. It has gone quiet and if I keep pushing it, despite its convenient blog content, will blossom into a creepy vanity and untruth.
The real truth is that my body feels better. The pain eased up about a week ago, leaving in big wooshes of inflammation as my body finally believed me about my nutrition. All my rings started flying off, and I peed for three days straight. The nerve pain, though just as intense when it hits, is less frequent. It’s a jolt, not a vice, which is far less exhausting. I can live with pain tantrums and fits of weakness, I could not live with incessant screaming and complete refusal to function.
I am being careful not to plow through what feels like a wide open door. Last night I had a dream that I just took off running down the street. I could feel every one of my bones smashing together and all of my muscles were like wet sandbags, but the movement was just so happy. Clumsy and childlike to the point of stupid, but I woke up feeling like I had actually done it and it made me want to wear my hair down and put on mascara.
I smiled at my body in the mirror as I draped it in it’s permanent outfit this morning, laughing at our inside joke, thinking about the way all my parts and pieces fit together and how not one part of me is separate. I thought about that lopsided, gleeful gallop down the street, all my flesh and sinew pushing away from a the pull of pain. I thought about how my brain is in there, too, even if dulled by whatever it is that the tiny tablets are doing to keep it safe, wobbling its way around a corner.
I will take this toddling victory lap. I will go right ahead and call it a #powerrehab win. The walking and the writing, the eating and the core work, the prayer and the Life Rules. Doing the plans and ridiculous Grace have brought me into yet another spring with a body and a brain that live and move and have their being when they really should not. How could I not press on in this race?